


Out of the Depths

by cshighland



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge Response, Creature Inheritance, Gen, Hermione's Nook's Magical Vacation Manip/Writing Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26209345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cshighland/pseuds/cshighland
Summary: Over the years, Hermione Granger worked hard to prove that a muggleborn was just as good as a pureblood or half blood. But what if she wasn't entirely muggleborn?After the war, after Hogwarts, Hermione finds her dream job working with the Scamanders, but even a workaholic needs a vacation once in a while. Once out of the office, though, work finds her, and a surprise inheritance comes to her out of the depths.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23
Collections: Magical Vacation Manip/Writing Fest





	Out of the Depths

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This fic was based on a photo manip prompt as part of the Hermione's Nook Magical Vacation Writing Fest. Credit for my photo manip goes to Xedra.  
> When I signed up for this fest, I had a long story mapped out in my head that was inspired by Xedra's manip. Unfortunately during this time, both my mother-in-law and father-in-law contracted and passed away of COVID-19. It was less than two weeks from their initial diagnosis until they were gone. Needless to say, this disrupted by grand scheme. So Out of the Depths is a standalone one-shot that introduces a new AU based on Xedra's awesome manip and then hopefully not so far in the future, I will write the rest of what was in my brain as a sequel, tentatively called Hidden Depths. Thank you to the admins of Hermione's Nook and this challenge for being patient with me and understanding of my lateness posting in light of the circumstances. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. I have no intolerance in my heart, and I have no money in my bank accounts. I don't own these characters or worlds, I'm just playing with them. The same goes for a number of my OC who are entirely my own creations, even if their names are very similar to names from mythology, 1001 Nights, comics, and more. The names may be similar, but the characters aren't them. 
> 
> Italics indicates thoughts.

**Out of the Depths**

**_February 24, 1995_ **

She was floating, drifting gently to and fro, stopped only by a tugging on her ankles before gently drifting back from whence she came.

_Such an odd sensation._

Hermione Granger woke at the sensation and attempted in vain to open her eyes.

_Okay, I can't open my eyes and I'm somehow floating. I'm also tethered, so at least I shall not float away. Best to not panic until I figure this out. Last I remember, Ron and I were in Dumbledore’s office and…_

Her thoughts were interrupted at the feeling of her bushy hair gliding over her face.

_Ugh!_

She attempted to reach up and push it back - a move so common it was practically reflex - when she discovered she could not move her untethered arms either.

_Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say. Where *AM* I?_

She became aware of faint music in the background, and heard snatches of murmured conversation - mainly complaints of boredom at having to watch the "two-leggers" and discussions of food - and then she heard Harry. He sounded garbled, his voice weirdly distorted, not at all like the melodic voices of those she assumed were guards.

"She's my friend too!" Harry yelled in the strange voice.

Suddenly, a jolt and the tether at her ankles fell free. A muscular arm grabbed her around the waist and then she was being tugged upwards rapidly, the voices and music fading below her. It seemed like an age that the warm arm dragged her up... and then, they breached and she could open her eyes, and move her limbs, and she was in the BLOODY LAKE! She sputtered lightly as the arm released her - the arm of a half-shark Quidditch star who was treading water beside her. Professors were reaching down to pull her out of the water and as they did, she felt the water's cold for the first time and quickly climbed on to the platform, allowing Professor McGonagall to wrap her in warm blankets and send her to the nearby medical tent to be checked over.

Madam Pomfrey tutted at the soaked Gryffindor and began her scans, a small frown between her brows. She grumbled as she worked about "...crazy tournament challenges..." and "...glad that the Headmaster's Enchanted Sleep spell was strong..." and so on. Hermione also frowned as she listened to the kind Matron's words.

_Enchanted sleep? But that puts you in stasis, fully unconscious. Sure I couldn't move, but I could hear and feel everything going on! This makes no sense..._

But soon, those thoughts were driven from her mind as the other participants made it out of the lake and she ran to make sure her best friends were okay.

And no one noticed a small trident marking fade into existence behind her ear.

**_May 1, 1998_ **

_Okay, okay. Breathe. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look…_

“AaaaaaEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”

Ron’s shout quickly reached her. “Oi! D’ya have to yell so loud, Mione? That *was* my ear!”

“Sorry, Ron. Sorry Harry. But I still. Hate. FLYIIIEEEEEEEE!” She trailed off in another screech of terror, squeezing her eyes closed and tightly gripping the bony dorsal spike of the dragon laboring below her.

“Remember. This was your mad idea,” Harry snarked.

Hermione would not dignify that with a reply. She simply held on tighter and pretended she was back in the Muggle world with her parents. Horseback riding. She remembered going riding with them one summer.

_Yes, I’m just whipping along at a full gallop, feeling the wind in my face and the flex of the horse’s muscles below me. Just some nice, fast, earth-bound fun…_

“We’re dropping,” Harry yelled, pulling her from her reverie, and she peeked through one eye to see they were indeed far lower and over a vast lake.

Ron, ever the strategist, immediately saw the potential.

“I say we jump!”

_Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. The part of flying I hate most is the idea of falling, let alone jumping. I do not aspire to skydive!_

“When?!”

“NOW!!”

And she was falling. Falling. Falling through the air – her worst nightmare really – before plunging into the safe, buoyant waters of the lake. Her mind cleared and instantly she felt at ease. It never occurred to her that she was deep in the water and needed to surface. She simply floated a moment, reveling in the feeling of NOT falling to her death for a few moments, and even catching the eye of a passing seal that she stared after in wonder. Then she noticed the flailing somewhat above her, where Harry was struggling in the water, going under and surfacing in a frightening way.

Quickly, she swam under and towards him, to help steady him in the water and keep him afloat, not once considering the fact that she’d yet to surface. They moved quickly then, towards the shore, her keeping him above water until his struggles stopped and he could more confidently swim on his own.

As the three soaked and bedraggled teens stumbled ashore and began to heal their burns from the Gringotts vault and change into dry things, not one of them noticed a shiny, iridescent trident shimmering behind Hermione’s ear before slowly fading once more as she dried.

**_February 27, 1999_ **

She was floating, drifting gently to and fro, stopped only by a tugging on her ankle before gently drifting back from whence she came. The Great Barrier Reef was amazing. So many glorious colors teeming with sea life of all varieties. It brought her peace in the aftermath of so much death. Hermione could not stay away, spending hours diving and snorkeling and washing away the horrors of the Second Wizarding War.

After the Battle of Hogwarts was completed, there were the funerals. And then the trials. And by November of 1998, Hermione just wanted to get away from everything. And honestly, she just wanted her mom and dad. Assuring Harry and Ron that she’d be find, she booked a flight to Australia and started the search for Monica and Wendell Wilkins.

When she memory charmed her parents and implanted the suggestion to move to Australia, she focused on things she knew about that distant land. She thought of the Opera House in Sydney, Uluru in the Northern Territory, and the beaches of the Great Barrier Reef. She thought of kangaroos and koala bears; kookaburras and quokkas and clown fish. Of course, with her Muggle schooling interrupted at age 11, she didn’t know much beyond that and being from the relatively small island of Great Britain, it was difficult for her to wrap her brain around just how far apart those iconic places and creatures could be. So she took what she knew of her family – her father’s love of boating and her mother’s love of marine biology – and gambled on the area around the GBR. Next stop, Brisbane!

Fortunately, obliviating her parents did not obliterate their essential personalities. Her hunch paid off and she found Monica and Wendell living in a rather posh apartment on Whitsunday Island, not far from Whitehaven Beach. She was able to restore their memories and decided to come clean about her entire time in the magical world. There was quite a bit of crying, arguing, and exposition, and on a few occasions, the Doctors Granger would storm out and spend a few hours on their boat (small yacht, actually) while Hermione paced and cried and fretted in their apartment. But eventually, they worked it all out, and were able to spend a glorious Summer Christmas together as a family.

Now, two months later, the bond between daughter and parents was tighter than ever with no more magical secrets between them. Since she was staying with her family for a while, Hermione had visited the Queensland Magical Authority offices in Brisbane to register her magical signature and obtain a Magical Visa for her stay. As her parents had no desire to return to gloomy old England from their island paradise, she also enlisted the QMA’s assistance in making their emigration legal and smoothing over any problems they might encounter due to her magical interference in getting them there as Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins.

Those logistics in hand, and her family restored, there was little to do but enjoy the beautiful white sand beaches and glorious reefs. She went out on the boat with her parents every day, and spent so much time in the water, her parents took to teasing her.

“Hey, little waterwitch! Time for lunch! Get back on this boat and fuel your body!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at her dad’s teasing, climbing the ladder on the side of the boat and joining them at the table.

“You know, dad, you really shouldn’t yell things like that where anyone can hear you. Statute of Secrecy, remember? I don’t want you to get deported or further mind-wiped by the QMA just when you’re back to yourselves and somewhere you love!”

Dan Granger laughed at his daughter’s bossy outrage and thanked the heavens that some things never changed. The family tucked in, enjoying a light meal in the sunshine, chatting as they did.

“Mimi, darling,” her mother chimed in, “your father is not breaching any rules. It’s a common expression, or, well, used to be. Waterwitches were people who were believed to have the ability to discover water or precious metals through dowsing. Dates back to the middle ages, actually, though mostly forgotten about these days... I’ll have to let you read some books on the topic.”

Hermione looked at Emma Granger with heavy skepticism.

“Why on earth do you have books on some historical witchy topic? Did you pick them up in Diagon Alley?”

Now both parents laughed, and Dan explained.

“Hermione, you know your mother’s maiden name was Lethbridge, yes? Well, her uncle… Great uncle, dear? Her great uncle Thomas was actually believed to be one of the last great British waterwitches, descended from a long line of waterwitches.”

Emma chimed in, “Well, allegedly. He was an Anglo-Saxon archeologist at Cambridge before he started getting peculiar ideas. He embraced the whole occult and paranormal craze that took off mid-century, and wrote several books under the name T.C. Lethbridge. His theories ranged from aliens to ghosts to pre-Christian witch cults to using pendulums to dowse for water – waterwitchery. Uncle Tommy was a bit touched, you see. At least that’s what much of the family believed. I believed it too, until a certain miss started doing odd things from the cradle and got invited to witch school by a cat professor! Really, looking back, I wonder if Uncle Tommy and some of the fanciful old family stories weren’t right about a lot of things…” Emma trailed off, her eyes going distant as she remembered the very odd uncle she only met a few times as a child, and the ancient books he claimed as being their legacy.

Hermione just sat there, mouth agape at this odd bit of family lore she’d never heard before. _This is *DEFINITELY* something I’ll be researching at the bookshop the next time I visit Wandwallong Terrace in Brisbane!_ At that, thought, she pushed aside her empty plate, ignored her mother’s cry of “30 minutes! You’ll get a cramp, darling!” and dove over the rail of the boat into the crystal blue waters.

Her parents stood on deck, arms around one another, with smiles on their faces watching their daughter frolic in the water. Their family was reunited. All was well.

And a gleaming blue-green trident danced over faint scales behind the swimmer’s ear.

**_July 10, 2000_ **

Hermione took a deep breath of the warm, salty air as she stepped out of the airport into the bright Mediterranean sunshine. Since returning to the UK the previous March, she hadn’t taken a day off or away from the magical world other than a brief jaunt to Whitsunday Island to spend the Christmas hols with her parents in Queensland. The rest of 1999 was a whirlwind – locating a flat of her own, sitting her delayed NEWTS at the Ministry, reconnecting with her friends who’d stayed behind after the war, and finding a job.

While generally recognized as “the brightest witch of her age” and with impressive NEWTS to back it up, it seemed most Ministry departments and private companies only wanted to hire her due to her status as a War Heroine, best friend of The Chosen One, Vanquisher of Voldemort. For a girl who worked herself to the point of illness to prove herself as an exceptional magical in her own right, this type of pandering was abhorrent and she turned down most offers, some before even officially applying. And, of course, a shiny Ministry job seemed rather tarnished after seeing the entrenched bigotry and corruption there for so many years. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a great auror and a good man, so the Ministry *was* slowly improving under his tenure as Minister for Magic. Still, even with magic and positive post-war sentiment behind him, he was no miracle worker.

Hermione still felt a calling to help those who were subject to discrimination and abuse – sentient magical beings (some, sadly, still classified as Beasts by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures). Oddly enough, she found her dream job via the Daily Prophet – bane of her existence at Hogwarts. While reading an article on some new legislation proposed that affected the House-Elf Relocation Office, she noticed they quoted Rolf Scamander, Chief Consulting Magizoologist for the Prophet. Reading further, she noted that he was the head of a private sector firm called “Bestiarium Fantasticum.” As his views on House-Elves were quite compatible with her own evolving views, she reached out and inquired if BF was hiring… and what exactly did BF do?

After learning that the Scamander family had founded the firm as a sort-of advocacy group for magical creatures, as well as funding and performing research on all manners of Fantastic Beasts around the world, Hermione was sold. She immediately applied for whatever positions they might have – she was willing to work as an office temp, if need be, to be part of the organization.

After meeting her and learning about her passion for oppressed beings, however, Rolf and his grandfather Newt (who founded the BF in his “retirement” in Dorset) hired her as a Creature Advocate. The job could have been created with her in mind – researching creatures and laws that affected them, serving as their voice in law-making chambers like the Wizengamut and the ICW General Assembly, even acting as an ambassador to various tribes and civilizations of sentient magicals. She loved it.

Now, after fifteen months of near-uninterrupted work, she was finally taking a vacation. On the advice of a coworker (Who would believe former Slytherin Millicent Bulstrode was something of a magizoology prodigy?!), she flew off to Barcelona en route to Illa Mística, an all magical enclave in the Mediterranean Sea, northeast of Menorca in the Balearic Islands. Millie highly recommended Mística as a slice of paradise – tropical, magical, and full of life as the “Ibiza of the Wizarding World.” Standing on the deck of the noon ferry to Mística, soaking in the sunshine and staring at the beautiful scenery, she had to concede that Millie was right.

Once on Illa Mística, she checked in at La Posada Duende Dormint – The Sleepy Imp Inn, adorably – and headed straight to her room to unpack and change into her swimsuit. There was a sparkling blue cove and private beach calling to her and she was not inclined to ignore its siren song. With joy in her heart and lightness in her spirit, she plunged into the warm Mediterranean waters and quickly set about exploring the reefs and local sea life.

By time she emerged from the sea, the sun was setting to the west and the faintest stars began to shine in the creeping darkness. She was shocked to see how much time had passed as she explored the waters near Mística. She honestly couldn’t recall surfacing during her swim, but blamed it on a combination of being enchanted by the beautiful underwater world and being horribly jet-lagged. She grabbed a quick dinner at the hotel and headed to her room for a much-needed sleep.

The next morning, Hermione woke to warm tropic breezes sweeping in from her open windows. Stepping out onto the balcony, she watched the rising sun with wonder and then retreated to her room to take a shower and dress for a day of exploring the island and playing tourist. She put on a light, flowy sundress and comfortable sandals suitable for walking all day. Quickly, she plaited her wild curls into a neat French braid and grabbed her faithful beaded bag and a wide brimmed hat. She tucked her wand into a quick-release holster that faded to invisible on her arm (Hey! War habits die hard!) and headed out to find breakfast.

Sometime later, she was seated at a lovely outdoor café, sipping her coffee and nibbling on the last remains of breakfast when a handsome man with dark hair sat down at her table. Staring intently at her, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Before she could react, or indeed, even say anything, he spoke in an aggravated voice.

“Perdona, germana meva. No et reconec. Esteu disfressats?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t speak Catalan. Erm… Parles Anglès? O potser Francès?”

Hermione tried to contain the flush in her cheeks as she stumbled over the two short phrases that Millie drilled into her before leaving – Do you speak English? Or perhaps French? – when she had expressed concern over visiting an island where she spoke neither official language, Catalan or Spanish.

The man’s eyes widened significantly at her British accent and halting attempts at the local language.

“Us demano perdó. I beg your pardon… I have mistake you for someone else? I, um, I thought you from my illa, er, my island and not looking like yourself? Um, disfressat? Ah, what word?” He trailed off, gesturing in front of his face, somewhat helplessly.  
  
“Disguised? Déguisé?” she offered.

His eyes lit up as he exclaimed, “Ah, sí! Sí! Disguised!” He stopped and looked rather sheepish. “Perdó de nou. Pardon again. But I have been rude. I am called Enric. And you are called?”

Hermione paused and looked at her uninvited table mate with a jaded eye. On the one hand, she just fought in a war and the world was not always a nice place. A woman traveling alone should always be on her guard. On the other hand, aside from the somewhat abrupt and stern words when he sat down, he seemed non-threatening. None of her war-honed spidey senses were tingling and her gut said this guy was – well… not exactly harmless, as he was a rather strapping man with a powerful aura… but not a danger to her. After her consideration, she smiled widely at him.

“I am called Hermione. Hermione Granger is my full name, and this is my first visit to Illa Mística. It’s beautiful. But before I go off and explore more of this gorgeous rock, you thought I was in disguise? However did you come up with that? I must admit, it is a novel pick up line…”

“I do not understand ‘pick up line’ but sí! Disguised… um, glamurs? Poció Polyjuice? Like that.”

“Well, I understood glamours, and Polyjuice, and I am not using either at the moment. This is just me. Why did you assume I was someone else?”

“You are marked of my people. El trident dels déus dels mars. Look, you see mine?”

Enric turned in his chair slightly and gestured behind his right ear at a shimmering trident that appeared to be made of fish scales. “El trident. It is the mark of those from my island, the mark of els déus dels mars. But you are not from my island… This cannot be.”

Hermione scoffed. “You say I am marked? Nonsense. I think I would know if I had a strange mark somewhere on my…” She trailed off then quickly pulled a small compact from her beaded bag and began twisting her head and contorting her shoulder to try to see behind her ear.

“Ah, Senyoreta Granger, please allow me.” He quickly transfigured a clean spoon on the table into a small hand mirror and held it in position to assist her. Between the two mirrors, Hermione could clearly see a blue-green trident starkly shining against the tanned skin of her neck.

“Oh! But, but how… what does… I mean, I don’t understand!”

“Senyoreta Granger, I also do not understand. No one but my people from my island bear this mark, yet there it is.”

Hermione tilted her head and examined the handsome man, questioningly. “You’ve mentioned your island a couple of times. You are not from Illa Mística, then. Where are you from?”

He smiled an enigmatic smile and said, “I will take you there. Tomorrow. It is not far, but today I have business to attend for els déus dels mars. We will meet here in the morning when the first ferry docks. Dress for water, Senyoreta. Fins demà, adéu!” Enric rose and headed down the town’s high street, quickly vanishing among the bustling crowd of tourists and locals.

After the odd interaction with the man called Enric, Hermione gave up her plans for an unstructured wander through town, and headed straight for a bookstore. After attacking the geography section, the wizarding anthropology section, the history section, and even the sections on healing and biology, she found little to nothing about trident markings appearing on bodies, nor any reference to “els déus dels mars” – the people he mentioned a couple of times in their conversation. It was most vexing. Further, when she asked the polite bookshop owner if he’d ever heard of them, the jolly and helpful little man froze in fear before crossing himself and gesturing at her with index and pinky fingers raised, before abruptly turning and stalking away.

In late afternoon, she found an international floo to call her office to speak with Millie. She recounted the entire odd interaction with Enric, and the strange behavior of the bookshop owner. She was quizzing Millie if she knew anything about “els déus dels mars” when Millie was shoved out of view and the kindly face of Newt Scamander appeared.

“So sorry, dear girl. I was just in the office for a meeting with Rolf and overheard Miss Bulstrode mention els déus dels mars, is that right?” A spark of excitement was growing in the elderly man’s eyes as she confirmed that was the topic of the call. “Oh Miss Granger this is most exciting! Most exciting indeed. You say you’ve met one? I’ve only heard whispers of their existence through my travels. You must learn more, dear girl! I know this is your vacation, but Bestiarium Fantasticum would compensate you handsomely for your research efforts – even more so if you established a diplomatic channel with them. Oh! Oh Merlin this is incredible!”

The old man was nearly vibrating in excitement and looked shocked when she nervously inquired as to who or what they were supposed to even be. She didn’t mention that Enric thought she was one as well.

“Miss Granger, you attended Hogwarts, so surely you are familiar with the denizens of the Black Lake - the mundane fish, the giant squid, the grindylows and other magical water creatures, and…”

“Mermaids, or more accurately, merrow. Of course, Sir. Grey or green aquatic beings, part man, part fish. Sentient yet resistant to interacting much with humans. In reality, quite unlike the Muggle depiction of mermaids, which are actually more sirens – beautiful, warm water aquatic beings, part man, part fish, with the ability to imperious humans with their songs.”

“That is correct, Miss Granger. The third subspecies of merfolk is the selkie, appearing as a seal in the sea, yet able to shed its skin to walk on land as a human for short periods of time. These are the three subspecies of merfolk, with the beautiful sirens believed to be the oldest species. However, legend tells of an even older species, an older culture or civilization from which the sirens, merrow, and selkies evolved. These earlier merfolk were called Els Déus Dels Mars, or The Gods of the Seas. No one has found firm evidence of their existence, but all three species of merfolk revere them. If it is at all possible that they exist, you must find out!”

A short time later, her head whirling with information, Hermione returned to La Posada Duende Dormint to try to sleep. She apparently had a meeting with a so-called God of the Seas at 9am.

Wednesday, July 12, dawned clear and bright with a sense of anticipation in the air. Hermione woke at her normal hour (ungodly early, according to her friends) and had a light breakfast of fruit and croissant on the balcony of her room. After bathing and again braiding her unruly hair, she pondered her wardrobe for the day, eventually deciding on a modest two-piece swimsuit under comfortable cotton shorts and a bright tank top with her walking sandals and stuffed her wide brim hat into her beaded bag. She arrived at the café ten minutes early, to find Enric already waiting for her.

“Bon dia, senyoreta! It is a beautiful day for you to visit my illa. After we met, I returned and spoke to our ancians honrats – our elders – who know our history and truths. They will know how you come to bear our mark. Come! We go!”

They left the café and, to Hermione’s surprise, headed away from the Ferry dock and away from the private marinas.

“Enric! Where are we going? I thought we were headed to a different island…”

“Sí. Come… we go.” He smiled reassuringly at her and led her to a distant, secluded beach that ended in a rocky promontory near the north-easternmost edge of Illa Mística.

“Here. We go here.” Enric stopped in the stunning white sand, and began to strip, tucking his white shirt and loose khakis into a rustic messenger bag woven of some green material. His sandals joined his clothing in the bag, and he turned to her in only a tight pale blue swimsuit. Raising an eyebrow, he gestured at her to disrobe.

 _Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon…_ she wryly thought to herself as she took of her outer layers and tucked them in her small beaded bag with her shoes and myriad other possessions.

He reached out to take her bag and, when she resisted, he merely said, “To protect,” and tucked the bag into his woven satchel with his clothes. “Come, follow me,” he said, leading her to the water before plunging in to the warm waves.

Taking a deep breath and hoping this wasn’t a mistake, she dove in after him. He swam quickly, but Hermione was Dan Granger’s little waterwitch. She quickly caught up to him as they approached an amazing stone archway on the sea floor, just past the reefs that marked the underwater edge of Illa Mística. He paused, just short of the arch, reaching a hand towards her with a smile. She grabbed it and they swam through the archway together. As they did, she felt a rush of magic sweep over her, not unlike passing through the powerful wards around Hogwarts, but much more potent.

Enric released her hand, which she noticed now had fine webbing between her fingers, and he swam ahead of her once more.

Hermione stopped swimming and gasped in shock, seeing him. Handsome Enric, just as handsome as on land, but now his hair was slightly longer; his hands were also lightly webbed, and most noticeably, he was suddenly a fish with white-blue tail from the waist down! Enric was merfolk!

Granted, after her conversation with Newt the day before, she should have expected this, but Enric was completely comfortable on land and rather attractive – certainly not greenish grey! – so he didn’t really fit the description of the merrow she was familiar with from the Black Lake. He didn’t pause as they entered the sea to don a seal skin or magic cap or any of the other items that indicated selkies, with their ability to visit land for short periods. But his ability to walk about on land for so long and blend in with humans without causing havoc with his voice meant he wasn’t a mere siren either. Truly, he must be one of the rumored Gods of the Seas.

 _If he truly was… then the mark means…_ Her eyes widened, and she cautiously looked down at her body. _Oh boy._

Just above her natural waistline, glimmering pale fish scales began, deepening in color from the color of her skin to pale green, to deeper green and teal, before ending in a glorious deep blue caudal fin at the base of her tail.

Enric noticed she’d stopped and was staring at her tail in incredulity. He swam back towards her and said, in a clear, melodic voice, “Yes, Hermione. You have a tail. You are of our people. Come, we must hurry to the village to meet with the elders. They are anxious to find a lost sister.”

He grabbed her hand again briefly, and helped her as she worked out how to gracefully propel herself with her new tail. Once she seemed comfortable with it, he led her further out into the depths.

More than an hour later, she began to make out buildings in the distance at the bottom of the sea. Not long after, other merfolk passed or swam up to them. All called out greetings to Enric with musical voices, and every one of them stared at her in confusion, shock, or excitement. Several began to follow them in curiosity.

Enric led her to an exquisite temple in the center of the town. They entered but none of their followers did – instead taking up spots outside the door and peeking in windows to learn as much of the gossip as they could.

Inside the temple, Hermione found herself in a large round room where nine ancient, yet beautiful, merfolk sat on thrones of coral and pearl, arranged in a circle. Enric led her to the center of the circle and began to speak.

“Honored elders, I bring to you a sister of our people, a Goddess of the Seas newly found. I present Hermione Granger.” He faded back, out of the circle and out of the temple.

Hermione smiled hesitantly and, after a slightly awkward moment, bowed her head at each of the elders in turn. She felt like she was meeting royalty, and her first instinct was to curtsy – an instinct impossible to indulge with a tail instead of legs!

One of the elders, a striking woman with long silvery hair and a vibrant purple and silver tail, spoke.

“Greetings, Hermione Granger. I am Melite of the elder council. We welcome you to our home and to our people. My soul sings in exultation that I live to see a lost child of the trident return to us. Your existence has been speculated upon, but never proven, for centuries. “ She paused, smiling widely at Hermione, before continuing. “May I present the remainder of the council? At my left, Maryn, Namorh, Attina, Merilah, Nereus, Julianar, Ahma, and Amphimarus.” The other elders nodded as their name was called. She noted they were arranged so the three males were separated by two females each, and wondered if there was significance to that.

Julianar, the female with black hair, cinnamon skin, and a rusty colored tail, spoke next. “Our people have lived on and below our island for centuries – before the separation of magic from non-magic, before the humans developed much in way of technology, science, or art. Our civilization possessed all these knowledges, as well as magic, languages, maths, and deep wisdom. In time, humans developed the ability to travel the seas and eventually stumbled upon our island. For a brief time, we engaged in trade with them – sharing knowledge, teaching skills, providing rare materials and treasures from the sea. And some of our people departed with the humans, to live among them exclusively. Leaving our people behind. As these lost children traveled the expanding world of humans, they brought with them talents and gifts of our race. They exceled at fishing, weather prognostication, and really, any skill with water. They built the greatest boats, provided the heartiest catches, gave the most accurate forecasts, and some even learned to manipulate water and its forms.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide, and she whispered, “Elemental magic?”

A jolly looking blonde spoke next – Attina, with her gold and yellow tail, “Oh yes, child. Our lost children possessed many talents with magic. But the humans feared them and their skills. They were persecuted along with the magic-users not from our people. In some cases our descendants were able to hide, vanish within the human race, disguising themselves as plain humans, or even plain magic-wielders. Those that could not were killed along with so many other humans, magical or otherwise, in their witch hunts. But our bloodline remained and gifts would pop out among the humans from time to time, hinting that they came from our island yet without the strength needed to return to us.”

The fierce looking male with black hair and green tail, Namorh, chimed in, “So many lost. The humans found many ways to kill each other, with and without magic, which is why we hid our island and our people when the first troubles came. We live here in peace and seclusion, but we will defend our people with force if we must.”

“But prophecy revealed that that which was lost would return to us, bringing fresh magic and lost powers to refresh our people, unite what was sundered, and restore us out of the depths.” Ahma, the delicate female with blue-black hair and a midnight blue tail, shared in an ethereal voice that reminded Hermione quite strongly of Luna Lovegood.

Thoughts of Luna led to thoughts of Rolf and work, and the task Newt gave her when they spoke. “Another prophecy. Great. And I suppose I am the subject of that prophecy?” Hermione wearily questioned. Ahma nodded and, Hermione sighed as much as one can sigh at the bottom of the Mediterranean.

“Well, I am magical and have been trained as a witch. I would not be able to restore you to the entire world – we are subject to the International Statute of Secrecy and therefore cannot reveal you to any Muggles, er, non-magicals. However, I know many in the Wizarding world would be delighted to learn of your existence and establish diplomatic and trade ties with you. Actually, that is rather what I do for a living. You’re lucky then, that I’m one of your people…. Oh, I suppose that’s not luck but the prophecy, eh? So, let’s see this island of yours, and tell me all about it, and your culture…. Er, our culture.”

Nereus, with sandy brown hair and a blue-green tail, grinned at her rambling. “Yes, Hermione Granger. It was likely fate’s hand and prophecy’s will that you are one of us, and positioned to help our people. So come. I will escort you up to our island to rejoin Enric and begin your education.”

Nereus tucked her arm safely in his and escorted her out of the temple, past all the merfolk who were unabashedly spying on the new arrival, and through a stone archway similar to the one near Illa Mística. Once again, a wave of powerful magic swept over her, and she floundered slightly when her tail transformed back into two legs. They swam to the beach and she saw Enric standing in the pure white sand, holding a posy of pink and yellow plumeria. Dozens of others surrounded him and lined the beach, waiting in excitement to meet the prophesied one.

Enric greeted Nereus, and presented the flowers to an overwhelmed Hermione, who stared at the assembled crowd, the amazing beach, and the beautiful architecture of the buildings visible beyond the beach.

She smiled wider than she had in years, thanking Enric for the flowers before turning to Nereus. “It’s absolutely stunning. Where are we?”

Nereus returned her smile and her breath caught in her throat as he replied. “Welcome home, Hermione Granger, to Atlantis.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not speak Spanish. I do not speak Italian. I definitely do not speak Catalan. I speak English, and some half-forgotten high school French. So, of course, I set my story on an island that has Spanish and Catalan as the primary languages and Italian and Greek and French as nearby influences. Because that makes life easy, right? The point of this ramble is that all Catalan in the story is courtesy of Google Translate. If it is wrong, please blame the good folks at Alphabet and not me. I'm not putting translations here because they are mostly things you can figure out contextually or I give you a translation in the text. Really, though, if you speak any romance language you can probably suss it out. Apparently Catalan is some kind of lovechild of Spanish, French, and Italian.


End file.
